


North of Apollo (Clexa Assassin's Creedy Odyssey AU)

by EffortlesslyOpulent, M_E_Scribbles



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/F, Kassandra's Character is Lexa, assassins creed odyssey AU, if you don't know that I only write clexa endgame...well jot that down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 10:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffortlesslyOpulent/pseuds/EffortlesslyOpulent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Scribbles/pseuds/M_E_Scribbles
Summary: “Walk around this corner and approach those guards slowly. Keep your head down and,” Lexa adjusted the peplos until it was draped over her head, “keep your hair covered. They’d recognize you by your hair, even in the moonlight.”Clarke nodded. She took a small step before she paused. “Lexa?”“Yes?”“Are you going to kill them?”Lexa’s back straightened at the fear in Clarke’s tone."Yes."





	North of Apollo (Clexa Assassin's Creedy Odyssey AU)

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly we just wrote this to fully imagine and sustain the mental image of Lexa as Kassandra. This was driven by thirst. We just decided to come up with a whole story to support the thirst.
> 
> Note: Death TW (no it's not our faves) but like...it's an ASSASSIN'S creed AU. It's gory. 
> 
> Second note: Also there's a scene that has "implied" rape/non-con *elements* (it doesn't happen) so a little warning there if you're not comfortable with that little bit!

 

A warm wind caressed Lexa’s cheek as she brought her trotting horse to a stop. The cliff’s edge was rocky and chipped, towering far above the villa that it guarded from behind. 

Titus whinnied his clear discomfort, drawing the warrior’s attention back to her horse.

“Shh, Titus.” Lexa tsked, sliding off in a clean motion and taking the reins. 

Pulling the black steed away from the edge, she took a quick moment to survey the estate below. 

To the east, several rolling hills covered the stretch of owned land- slaves working under the heat of the sun, heads down, baskets tucked under their arms. 

Lexa felt a sense of unease wash over her. This was no foreign concept- slavery was rampant among the isles.

To the west, a thicket of trees that disappeared into itself, away from the main road, utilized by most of the guards. 

That was a fool’s way out of this errand, and the first place they would search for her, if she wasn’t as  _ thorough _ as she wished to be. 

In the sky, an eagle circled the estate several times, crying out every now and again. 

Lexa’s gaze would follow the eagle with her own sharp gaze, taking in as much as she could, focusing on every sliver of what she was seeing. 

Details were key. 

The courtyard, at the center of the villa, was exposed to the sun- with no tile roofing at all. 

Lexa chuckled to herself. 

Long ago, her  _ mater  _ had told her some such tales, about the Gods, and how they could not hear if prayers were not spoken outside. 

When she was a child, with a wooden sword at her hip, her hands free of blood and her conscience clean of trauma, she had loved gathering out in the courtyard. 

There was much she loved, in truth. 

The way the fields would turn amber, set ablaze by the setting sun, and the warm greeting of the stars at night. 

Sparta was beautiful, but there was nothing  _ that _ beautiful. 

In all of Lexa’s years, training and learning from her mistakes, she never found anything to compare with the beauty of those memories, of home. 

The estate was bustling, rows of guards filing outside as servants moved in and out of the building, oblivious to the hooded stranger, watching them from above. 

With a sigh, Lexa moved to sit by the edge of the cliff. 

She sat in a curious position, folding her legs, keeping her back straight, in an entirely meditative pose. 

Lexa’s head barely turned when the eagle swooped down suddenly, descending with a confident glide until it came to sit on her shoulder, its talons gripping the pauldron that her hood was pinned to. 

“You saw much, didn’t you?” Lexa cocked a brow at her feathered companion, trying not to show too much amusement at the way Titus nervously eyed the bird. 

Ikaros hardly turned his head, his intelligent gaze finding his ally’s eyes. 

Lexa nodded slowly, glancing back down. 

“They  _ are  _ preparing for a wedding.” Lexa drawled, eyes scanning each one of the men that seemed to come in and out of the villa, far below. 

She watched them for what seemed like eternity, keeping the same position. 

She waited, and waited. 

Until the sky’s amber sunset was beginning to become a purple, and the salty breeze of the nearby see began to develop a slight chill to it. 

Lexa was statuesque, unmoving, a quiet figure atop the cliff. 

The very faraway sound of music greeted Lexa’s ears, and when she surveyed the guard’s shift for the third time. As they began to tighten up, Lexa realized her time to strike was nearing. 

Lexa toed the cliff’s edge, watching carefully as a pebble chipped off and fell to the bottom, the sound softened by the earth beneath it. 

Clouds were rolling in slowly but steadily to the distance, and Lexa’s mind fell to her ship. The  _ Adrestia _ was hidden in one of the quieter ports, a short ride from where she was planning her attack. 

She had a storm to beat, a crew to catch up to, and no time to waste. 

Ikaros took flight off the same edge, soaring to great heights within a few moments, creating a huge gap between himself and Lexa. 

“Showoff.” Lexa mumbled as she palmed the rocky ledge, already feeling the tearing of her muscles in anticipation for her descent. 

* * *

 

It wasn’t something Clarke had expected. She’d been in Bellamy’s villa for over a day and still, she was surprised by everything she saw. Gorgeous murals and frescoes that looked like they were just completed, so vivid were the colors.

Given the limited time she’d spent with Bellamy, she never would have taken him for someone who enjoyed the arts.

Allowing a sigh to escape her lips, Clarke shook her head and stood up from her, much more comfortable than expected, bed. She made her way to the window, smiling as the silky curtains fluttered in the breeze and brushed against her arms. Her eyes danced along the moving people in the courtyard below, never settling anywhere for long, before she lifted them to the hills beyond the walls.

Her home was to the southeast, a day ride to the port, if she pushed a horse to the point of exhaustion and then 2 days sail, if she could find a crew willing to take her with only the promise of money upon arrival. But Bellamy led a cavalry unit, surely his horses would catch whatever beast she managed to get her hands on. And Marcus had brought 3 of his fastest triremes, no doubt they would catch whatever poor vessel she could find.

No.

Better not risk such a foolish plan.

Instead, she looked to the north and allowed her mind to drift toward home.

Her mother was away, called to a neighboring estate to help the master’s wife give birth. Her step-father, Marcus, had been the one to hastily arrange this marriage between Clarke and Bellamy. While she knew her mother would be furious at the underhanded play, Clarke really couldn’t say she was surprised. Marcus may have been kind to her but he never hid the fact that he wanted children of his own, children Abby wouldn’t dream of giving him as long as she had Clarke to dote upon.

Closing her eyes, Clarke pictured the small blacksmith forge near her home. Raven would be there, working some piece of metal into a sword or a shield, no doubt. Clarke, born to wealth and privilege, had found a friend in Raven as a child. She’d been Raven’s fiercest defender when Marcus wanted to cast her out of the villa for her weakness, her leg that wouldn’t work.

Then there was Monty, the apprentice to the alchemist Marcus trusted with his life. The young man was clever and witty. He was also able to create substances that helped Clarke relax and forget her worries for a time.

Clarke searched for more things to occupy her mind. But in truth, there was nothing. Those she’d thought were her friends were the same ones who had helped Marcus cart her away. 

Another sigh escaped.

Turning away from the window, Clarke made her way to the bed again.

They were about to continue the marriage ceremonies at any moment. A ceremonial bath with Bellamy did not sound like something she wanted to indulge in. 

While she never expected to find love before marriage, she’d always hoped to have a voice in who her husband would be.

Bellamy was never even close to the top of her list.

He would make a strong ally for Marcus. His army would provide protection from enemies her step-father had made.

In the end, that was what was important to Marcus. Protecting the home that rightfully belonged to Clarke and ensuring his step-daughter was no longer at the center of Abby’s world.

If there was a way out of the marriage and a way to get out from under Marcus’s thumb, Clarke was going to have to rely on herself to think of it.

Unfortunately, she’d have to think fast. She could hear footsteps coming down the tiled hallway.

For better or for worse, she was about to find herself bound to Bellamy.

* * *

 

 

By the time she’d finally descended the cliff, setting one sandal down into the thick brush that hugged the bottom of the great rock wall, t he sun had given way to the dark velvet of the night sky.

Pulling her hood over her head, Lexa wasted no time in making herself small, an invisible shadow in the edges of the estate, covered by the thick foliage.

She watched intently as the guards outside remained unmoving from their positions, one in front of each pillar that supported the rear villa wall. 

Her target was important, no doubt, but Lexa began to wonder how much of it was precautionary, and how much of it was true cowardice, given the fact that he was supposedly a decorated Athenian captain. 

_ In a seemingly endless war.  _

Lexa pushed down her thoughts of contempt for the great war that had been plaguing both the Spartans and the Athenians, and who or what-ever was unfortunate enough to be caught in their path. 

Lexa’s eyes settled on the deep Athenian blue that all the guards wore.

Their gazes seemed to be fixed straight ahead, and unlike some of the other guards Lexa had seen, they weren’t talking and losing focus of their task. 

Usually, in Lexa’s experience, that indicated that their commanding officer wasn’t too far off. 

It was little tricks such as this that had saved her life so many times. 

Still, she could hear Indra’s words, as she would gently tap the back of Lexa’s knees, forcing her to stand straighter. 

“ _ Your greatest weapon is not your spear, or blades, but your eyes. Your ears. You can deal more damage with information than you can with thoughtless slaughter.”  _

Time and time again, Indra’s methods proved to be true. Stealth was preferable over an open bloodbath, to be sure. 

Slowly, a plan was forming in her mind, born of all the observations she made, her head on a swivel. 

The roof would be her easiest point of entry. 

The courtyard had far too many people occupying it to be of any use, and Lexa had the strong inclination that her target would be tucked away safely towards his quarters. 

Glancing back at the guards one last time, Lexa carefully crept up to the wall, careful not to move too quickly, in fear of drawing their attention. 

She was unsurprised to find that she was able to get atop the roof with little difficulty, careful not make much sound as she remained crouched atop the villa. 

As she kept low, she remained vigilant for the sudden appearance of an archer. 

Her target was a  _ Hyparchos,  _ an officer of a renowned squadron of mounted archers, and it would come as no surprise if he guarded his estate with the same level of tactical awareness with which he’d command his men to battle. 

Lexa sneered in distaste. 

It was a decidedly  _ Athenian  _ trait to prefer the bow to the feel of the blade in one’s hand, the weight, the razor sharp edge, the momentum from the swing enough to throw one forward entirely. 

A bow meant killing from a distance, and distance meant fear. 

Fear was not in Lexa’s vocabulary, nor could it be, as the life of a mercenary was hardly ever simple, or for the light-hearted. 

Lexa had countless bounties on her head, chased by those who wanted her head as a trophy. She’d been hunted for her most recent exploits- several power plays in various Spartan and Athenian cities, shifting the balance of power in the favor of whomever she desired. 

She’d been known as the “Eagle-bearer”, by those who were fortunate enough to have noticed her, and lived to tell about it. 

She was uniquely infamous, haunting many politician’s dreams, nonexistent and somehow omnipresent. 

There were rumors about her, but no way of putting a face to the name. 

She would come, sure as the night. Sneaking into caves, infiltrating important meetings, ransacking villas for incriminating information- all a means to an end. 

And she was about to get another step closer to that ending. 

Lexa kept low, a quiet shadow moving across the expanse of the roof. Ahead, a covered structure sat atop the roof. 

Lexa’s eyes narrowed as she found what she’d been looking for: a way in. 

Approaching it slowly, Lexa climbed atop the shorter wall, clearing it in a small leap. 

With great satisfaction, she found what she’d been looking for, amongst some pillows and empty goblets, and the open roof of the bath house- the  _ only  _ other part of the villa that was left exposed, to vent the steam.  

She’d found her target. 

* * *

 

Clarke didn’t believe in tradition. 

Tradition was luxury intended for those who could afford not to change, not to progress, over time. 

Had she followed tradition, Clarke never would’ve learned to fight, like her father. 

Tradition did not care for Clarke, or her well-being. 

According to tradition, she was to marry an Athenian military captain  _ ten years her senior _ .

And even this  _ rushed  _ union, this ploy on Kane’s part to secure his petty protection from the advancing Spartan military and their allies, was false, done under Mother’s nose so that no one could protest. 

In lieu of an  _ actual  _ wedding ceremony, where the  _ groom _ -to-be would come to her estate, ask her father for her hand, and escort her back- she was effectively  _ taken _ . 

Clarke didn’t care for marriage. 

She thirsted for the same things her father did- justice, fair trial, all the makings of a brilliant rebellion leader. 

She missed him dearly. 

She wondered what disgust it would have brought him to learn that his daughter was currently in Bellamy’s villa, with all its frescoes and murals and huge windows. How much would Father sneer at the knowledge of Clarke’s soon to be completed marriage ceremonies?

Everywhere she went, Bellamy’s servants fussed around Clarke, gathering what was necessary for the ceremony. 

In truth, Clarke thought she’d have more time to think. 

She thought she’d have more time to escape.

She never thought that she would be forced to act in the room most cut off from the rest of the villa- with no apparent way out, save for the main entrance, with guards and servants bustling about on the other side. 

Now, it seemed her only choice.

And so, Clarke found herself being led by Marcus and a few handmaidens to the  _ loutra _ , the ceremonial bath. The guards dotting the hallway were to be expected, and Clarke had thought that Bellamy was showing a surprising amount of kindness in allowing her to be in the baths alone, unsupervised. 

Then again, he knew nothing of Clarke’s fiery personality, or what made her so dangerous. He was underestimating her, it seemed. 

She stepped into the room, the heat and steam hitting her like a brick wall. Blinking a few times, Clarke lifted her hand to swat at the wisps of condensation floating near her face.

That was when Bellamy chose to make his presence known, clearing his throat as he stepped forward the thick steam of the bath, rubbing thoughtfully at the beard he wore, short and trimmed close to his face. 

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.” His voice drifted into her ears. He was too still too far from her for her to see him talking, she was just barely able to make out his face.

“Surely a woman such as myself would never be so foolish,” Clarke said calmly.

Her new husband took another step forward. Clarke fought to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Her new husband was already nude and clearly very proud of his physique.

“You can look at me, Clarke. I am your husband after all,” Bellamy said. There was a hint of teasing in his voice but there was also a thinly veiled command there.

She lifted her gaze from the floor to his eyes, taking her time. She wanted him to know she’d looked.

She just didn’t want him to know she’d found him wanting.

“There you go, Princess.” Bellamy smiled and stepped closer still. He placed a kiss upon her cheek, grinning when she bent away slightly. “You’ll get used to the beard, don’t worry about that.”

Clarke only nodded. 

“How about you hang your  _ peplos _ over by the door and I’ll start pouring the  _ loutrophoros  _ into the bath for us?” Bellamy prompted, turning away before he finished speaking.

This time, Clarke did roll her eyes. She stepped up next to her husband and hefted one of the ceremonial water vessels, or  _ loutrophoros _ , easily into the air. Feeling Bellamy’s eyes on her, she turned and smiled even as she poured the water.

“I mean no disrespect but I am not wilting violet, Bellamy. I can help you if you’ll let me.”

“I told you to take your  _ peplos _ off.” Bellamy’s voice had shifted, the command overtaking the teasing.

Clarke set down her now empty  _ loutrophoros _ carefully. She made sure to look Bellamy in the eye as she spoke. “I would feel more comfortable keeping it on.”

“No.”

“Just for now,” Clarke added. 

Before she could blink, Bellamy took a step forward, there was barely a handful of inches between their noses as he leaned down. He reached for the strap of her  _ peplos _ .

Clarke ducked out from underneath his hand, glaring up at him.

“I will take it off when the bath is ready.” She said, the steel in her voice clear. “I don’t want to catch cold while we do this. I am just a feeble woman after all. No warrior such as yourself.”

* * *

 

The bath hall was shrouded in a hazy mist of hot steam. 

Besides the sounds of the running of the water, and the drops, the hall below was eerily silent. 

Lexa tried to tune into the voices that were audible, distinctly hearing the back and forth of two voices as she slowly lowered herself into the bath-house from the ceiling. She settled on an elevated platform of sorts, lip curling in disgust at thoughts of what had occurred there, careful not slip on the wet marble. 

Fixing her eyes below, through the haze of steam, her eyes fell upon two figures. 

One immediately brought her disgust. 

In all his  _ glory _ , stood her target, the mighty Athenian “hero” himself. 

As much as she wanted to tear her gaze away, she could not. 

Instead, she found that her eyes were locked on another being in the room. 

This was, perhaps, one of those times where Indra would’ve knocked the sense back into her, for losing focus, even momentarily. 

But she was something else. 

She, the woman in question- was standing before Lexa’s target, a good amount shorter than him, but unwilling to give him an inch as far as her heated gaze was concerned. 

She was beautiful, with fair hair that was undoubtedly long, though it was done up. Her white  _ peplos _ clung to her damp skin, the steam beginning to soak through the fabric. 

She was breathtaking. 

Everything about her- from the way her shoulders tensed like a drawn bowstring, to the way her eyes seemed to be eating Bellamy’s soul. 

Lexa’s eyes barely had to adjust before she could read the situation, properly. 

Indra had been right, about observance being her most powerful tool. Staying up and hidden well away from their line of sight, Lexa listened to the quiet, tense conversation, taking place between who she assumed to be Bellamy and his new wife. 

“Are you afraid, Clarke?” Bellamy asked, his tone surprisingly soft, as he took another step in the woman’s space. 

Lexa felt a familiar unease claw its way into her mind once more. 

Her fingers itched to wrap around one of her blades, to send this  _ maláka  _ to Hades, before he could lay a finger on  _ her. _

However, Lexa remained unmoving, unflinching. 

She wasn’t supposed to be seen. 

If, somehow, this woman could leave, only for a moment…

_ She could kill her husband.  _

Lexa shook her head. 

It wasn’t her responsibility to think of the traumas she would cause. She kept her mouth shut, waiting for the correct opportunity to present itself. 

“Should  _ I  _ be afraid?” Clarke asked, daring to maintain eye contact with him still, her voice going suddenly deep, sultry, even. 

“Yes.” Bellamy whispered, his half smile making Lexa sick to her stomach. 

This was the man that led his troops to massacre innocents, on his conquest for Athens. He was purposely flexing his vast power, ensuring that his new wife knew how  _ dangerous  _ he was. 

And if Lexa’s ears weren’t deceiving her, his new wife was not at all opposed. 

Clarke gave her hips a slight turn, enticing Bellamy with each little sway as she stepped backwards into the water, behind her. 

She flashed him a sultry smirk, and Bellamy chuckled deeply, stepping after her as if bewitched. 

The more Clarke waded into the water, the more sheer her  _ peplos _ became, already knee-deep. 

Bellamy wore a curious expression, his eyes glued to the line of the water, slowly soaking the fabric. “I thought you didn’t want to become ill?” Bellamy teased, a predator’s glint in his eyes. 

Lexa rolled her eyes, looking down to her dagger. 

If this “Clarke” wasn’t going to clear out, then she had no choice. 

“Come here, and take it off.” Clarke took a chance, allowing herself the slightest demand, carefully schooling her expression so that Bellamy would not notice her reaction. 

She didn’t sigh in relief when he stepped forward, arms already outstretched for her, because she couldn’t. 

The water moved around them in ripples as Bellamy waded forward, placing his hands on either side of Clarke’s hips. He took in a shuddering breath, and Clarke almost lost it. 

Almost. 

“Kiss me.” She whispered tenderly, and by this point, was not at all surprised to find Bellamy’s hands sliding up as he leaned in.

His last moments were as pathetic as first- if not more so. He couldn’t even wail, this time around, when Clarke pulled the thin dagger from behind her dress and plunged it into Bellamy’s neck, at the same time, dragging him under water, so that nothing could be heard. 

Lexa’s jaw all but dropped as she watched the woman, Clarke, drown her new husband as if it were nothing but a few scraps of cloth that she was submerging.

Not the most stoic response from a hired killer, but it was a turn of events that she simply hadn’t anticipated. 

She even felt foolish for falling for the woman’s cleverly crafted words, just as her target had.  

The bath began to run slightly red from where the thrashing had ceased. 

The killing was neat, quiet, and right on time, as far as Clarke was concerned. 

Lexa’s adrenaline seemed to kick in as she lowered herself carefully down into the bathhouse, Clarke entirely unaware of her presence at all. 

Lexa shook her head in disbelief as she watched Clarke stand up from the body, whispering a quiet curse as she pulled the blade from the water, leaving the body floating there precariously. 

Clarke emerged, dripping wet, blood dripping down her body in thick droplets, her hand clutched around the blade she’d used to slay her forceful new husband. 

Lexa realized something, then. 

She’d finally,  _ finally _ , seen something that was as full of life, of raw beauty and power, that was even more magnificent than her old memories of Sparta. 

It was when Clarke turned, stepping out of the water, blood and water all over her white  _ peplos _ , that she slammed into Lexa, who’d been waiting, arms folded. 

“Fuck!” Clarke’s scream was loud, echoing around the bath house. 

Lexa took a step back with her hands up, not wanting to upset the widow further, but she remained fixed in Clarke’s path. 

It was only after a second (a terribly long one, where Clarke’s chest was heaving and her eyes could not seem to rest on one spot), that Clarke seemed to realize they were still alone in the bath house. 

“I…” Clarke gasped, paling as panic set in. Her eyes raked Lexa over. She took in Lexa’s armor, her pauldron, her hood, the way her chiseled arms folded across her chest, hovering just within reach of her many blades. 

Clarke had her answer almost instantly. 

“Misthios.” She whispered in realization. 

Lexa nodded, glancing towards the door. “They think you are consummating your relationship with the  _ Hyparchos.”  _ She rolled the word off her tongue, finding Clarke’s blue eyes. Suddenly, she lost track of her train of thought. 

Clarke’s expression soured. “That’s why the guards haven’t come in.” She grumbled in understanding. 

“I doubt they would have given  _ him _ more than a few minutes, at best.” Lexa warned her, jerking her head to her deceased target, now floating face down in the once sacred bath. 

Clarke glanced at her with a cocked brow, Lexa’s joke stopping her in her tracks for a few moments. 

“I have to go.” Clarke mumbled quickly, frantically searching for the clean robes she’d seen earlier. 

Her plan was falling apart, and this  _ stranger  _ sure as hell wasn’t a part of it. 

Even if she did look like Aphrodite herself. 

“You took my kill.” Lexa tilted her head slightly as she stepped over to the table, handing Clarke the clean  _ peplos _ she was looking for. “Why?” 

Clarke paused, as if she could seriously ask such a question. 

“You were in here long enough without striking. Someone had to do it.” Clarke pointed out, taking the  _ peplos _ from Lexa’s hand, into her own shaky one. 

“You planned this. You had no warning that I would be here.” Lexa deflected her distraction easily. 

“I was bartered off into this marriage before I could say no.” Clarke answeredly grimly, and realization dawned on Lexa’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” Lexa offered meekly. 

“I’m not.” Clarke answered, turning to face Lexa. “Who are you, misthios? I would ask why you wanted him dead...but there are hundreds that do.” 

Lexa glanced left, and then right, taking a step forward. 

She stuck out her hand, and felt a jolt when Clarke clasped it, the two greeting each other with sharp glances and firm grips. 

“ _ Alexandria. _ Lexa.” Lexa introduced herself, bowing slightly. “And your- Bellamy. He had information, regarding my lost family. I…” She trailed off, her shoulders dropping slightly. 

Clarke paused, fear etched into her features. 

“You mean… I killed him, before you could-” 

Lexa nodded. “You did what needed to be done.” She assured softly in understanding. “But you don’t have the means to escape.” 

“Why’s that?” Clarke challenged, tossing the bloodied  _ peplos _ aside once she’d made the switch. 

Lexa felt a fire ignited within her at Clarke’s tone, her haughtiness, the way she challenged everything and anything. 

“Just outside this door, I’ve counted two guards. Outside the hall beyond that, six. You know how to handle a blade, Clarke, but you do  _ not  _ possess those kinds of skills.” She motioned to the droplets of blood that were now staining the floor, evidence of Clarke’s handiwork- or lack thereof. 

The panic in Clarke’s expression was heartbreaking. 

“Let me help you.” Lexa tried, unsure of what it could be that was possessing her to act so kindly.  (She already knew what, or whom, it was, deep down). 

Clarke froze, glancing at her with a very serious gaze. 

“You don’t mean-” 

“I do. The guards are going to return soon, and my work is done here. Clarke, do you want to come with me?” 

Clarke remained frozen in place, staring at the assassin, unsure of how to respond. 

“I hear your trial will be brief and the death will be swift.” Lexa added, the slightest smirk tugging at her lips when she said as much. 

Clarke gazed upon her as if challenging her audacity to even joke about the subject, but the sound of movement outside the bath seemed to shake her into movement. 

“Why would you help me?” Clarke demanded, her voice unsettled. “I have nothing to pay you with.” 

Lexa felt a pang of guilt. 

She was quite obviously thrown by the entire situation, and trust was not something she could afford to give easily. 

“...We can arrange a means of payment after we’ve escape.” Lexa deflected. 

In truth, she didn’t expect payment, nor would she have demanded it to help the woman in distress. She was the victim of a cruel decision, and deserved none of what had been forced upon her. But Lexa knew she wasn’t in a position to trust anyone’s words, and a misthios accepting payment would be more reassuring to Clarke than a stranger offering to help her for nothing. 

Clarke seemed to realize what Lexa was insinuating and nodded to herself. “I can pay you. Handsomely. If you can return me home-” 

Lexa held up her hand to stop Clarke’s ramblings. “We have to leave the villa unseen, first. There will be no payment if both of us are dead.” 

“How can we escape?” Clarke couldn’t believe the words coming from her mouth. The sheer  _ ridiculousness  _ of all the events that had so recently transpired; Clarke couldn’t quite believe she was to be escaping her marriage through an assassin. 

_ Good-natured as she seemed.  _

While Lexa’s eyes had a sharp twinkle to them, her blades did as well, and Clarke wagered that Lexa could disarm her and have one of the aforementioned blades positioned at the tip of her throat in seconds, if she were so inclined. 

But the guards outside  _ would  _ be inclined to do so, upon finding Bellamy’s body, and once word reached his younger sister, Octavia, Clarke knew she’d send the full force of the cavalry after her. 

(Octavia was already renowned for her temper and her inability to stay out of trouble. Clarke had only met her briefly, but couldn’t imagine what sort of monster she would become when she learned about her beloved brother). 

“You’ll be killed.” Clarke whispered, voicing her thoughts aloud. 

Lexa raised an eyebrow at her statement, a look of pure amusement on her features. 

“Is this funny, to you?” Clarke snapped. “The whole cavalry will be hunting us, and-” 

“Klark.” The way Lexa said it, the way it rolled off her tongue in such a curious way, had Clarke stopping in her tracks, mid-rant. 

“Follow me. Do as I do. Do not speak.” Lexa instructed her calmly, hand on her dagger as she crept to the door. 

“There are two, outside.” Lexa whispered, leaning away from the closed door, where she was peering between the cracks. 

Clarke chewed on her lip, wringing her hands together uncertainly. “I…” 

“You call them in here.” Lexa told her, staring her down with a convincing gaze. 

“Call them?” Clarke repeated unsurely. “In here?” 

“Yes.” Lexa murmured, glancing up at the high ceiling she’d came from. There was no way she would be able to clear that with Clarke, let alone silently. 

This was the only option. 

_ You don’t offer your services without pay.  _

Indra’s teachings rang in her head, but she quickly shook them away. 

This was life and death, and Clarke had no choice but to defend herself from that vile snake. 

_ Indra wouldn’t turn her back on an innocent life, much as she’d like me to believe she would.  _

“I hope you are not squeamish.” Lexa mumbled as she got into position behind the door. 

“Evidently not.” Clarke remarked dryly, casting a backwards glance at what was left of her “husband”. 

Lexa bit back a smile and loosened her shoulders, drawing both blades, and taking a deep breath. 

Nodding to Clarke, she gave the signal. 

Clarke took a shuddering breath, eyeing the door she was standing not ten feet away from, before calling out to them. 

She was careful not to be too loud, Lexa noted, impressed. 

Clarke had a careful command on herself, even in times of fear. 

It was admirable. 

She could see Clarke’s fear, in the way her hands had a slight tremor at her side. 

Sure enough, the guards came in no time at all, especially responsive since the  _ hyparchos  _ was expected to be in the room. 

Two men entered, swords not yet drawn as they faced Clarke, expressions somewhat hidden by the glints of their helmets. 

Clarke barely had the chance to utter a word, a sound, even. 

Lexa moved like nothing she’d ever seen. 

Like a shadow, given life, two blades born from midair, suddenly plunged into the necks of the guards from behind. 

It was almost as if they were synchronized, the way they collapsed lifelessly, leaving barely a hint of blood. 

Clarke said nothing, her gaze fixed on the broken spear on Lexa’s back, and not on the bloody daggers she’d been wiping off. 

Clarke had never seen anything like it.  _ Like her _ . 

She was lethality personified, a lioness, graceful and elegant in the way she killed. 

Lexa killed  _ gently.  _

It was as strange a scene to witness as it was an emotion to feel from such a grotesque act. Clarke couldn’t quite understand anything that was racing through her mind. 

“We should go.” Lexa informed her, glancing back into the hallway. “Stay behind me.” 

Most of Clarke’s life, she’d pushed boundaries and ignored rules. Her father took pride in his strong-willed daughter, telling all who would listen about her skills.

This was one time in her life Clarke gladly followed instructions.

As Lexa crept along the halls and ducked into rooms, Clarke was her shadow.

The assassin let servants and slaves pass by without harm, any guards who came near could not say the same. Lexa’s skills truly revealed themselves with each subsequent kill.

By the time they reached one of the doors leading outside the villa, she’d disposed of 7 guards and 1 unlucky soldier wandering around drunkenly.

“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice cut into her thought.

“Yes?” Clarke blinked a few times before focusing on Lexa.

Shifting to look around a corner, Lexa counted 4 guards in the shadows between them and the wall.

“I need your help.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Walk around this corner and approach those guards slowly. Keep your head down and,” Lexa adjusted the  _ peplos _ until it was draped over her head, “keep your hair covered. They’d recognize you by your hair, even in the moonlight.”

Clarke nodded. She took a small step before she paused. “Lexa?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to kill them?”

Lexa’s back straightened at the fear in Clarke’s tone. She nodded slowly before explaining, “Any I kill now are unable to follow us. The fewer who follow us, the better our chance for escape.”

Clarke couldn’t argue with that kind of sound logic. 

Somehow, Clarke managed to walk up to the guards as calm and collected as she’d ever been. Her heart was racing, hoping that they wouldn’t immediately recognize her.  She moved to engage the man closest to her in conversation, smiling coyly and lifting her head just enough for him to see it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lexa sneak up to the group, the breeze covering any sound she might have made.

And then, before Clarke even knew what had happened, the men were dead and Lexa was hiding their bodies in the thick bushes near the wall.

She never had the chance to utter anything at all. 

“We must go,” Lexa said, barely winded by her activities.

This time, Clarke didn’t hesitate to follow Lexa’s commands. She nodded, made sure her hair was covered, and moved to a small gate in the wall she hadn’t even noticed.

“Guards,” she whispered over her shoulder before they pushed through the gate. She knew there had to be guards on the other side.

Lexa nodded and pressed her finger to her lips.

She took a step back, eyes studying the wall before her, and then she was climbing. Her fingers and toes found holds Clarke couldn’t even see.

There was barely a sound before the gate was pulled open. Lexa stood before her, still not even the slightest bit winded, and reached for her hand.

“We should go. The moon grows high, it will give too much light soon.” Lexa prompted at Clarke’s hesitation.

“We need a horse,” Clarke said.

“Titus is waiting for us at the main road.”

That was all Clarke needed to hear it seemed. She nodded once, just the slightest dropping of her chin, and she once again followed Lexa into the shadows.

* * *

 

Clarke found that something had overtaken her, during her escape with the  _ misthios. _

She was in the heart of danger, liable to be caught, sentenced, and likely killed, for the crimes she’d committed. 

She’d taken a life. 

The life of her husband. 

She would be followed, for the rest of her days, wanted by soldiers and sellswords alike. 

She had just witnessed many lives reach their ends at the hands of one of the most skilled killers she’d ever seen, and Clarke was throwing her lot in with her. 

Each step towards the main road became heavier and more taxing on her body as her woes threatened to overwhelm her. 

Clarke had pushed it all away, refusing to let it bubble up and consume her while they were fleeing. 

And they weren’t completely out of harm’s way yet. She seemed to realize that as she cast a glance behind her, eyes narrowed as she heard several voices shouting, way off at the villa. 

Lexa, to her credit, didn’t seem entirely bothered, glancing backwards with a slight smirk. 

How could she  _ smirk _ at a time like this? 

She let out a low whistle, and Clarke was amazed to find movement, in the corner of her eyes. Waiting by the thicket of trees, a striking black steed emerged at Lexa’s beckoning. 

“This must be Titus.” Clarke murmured, admiring the way the glint of the moon seemed to reflect off Titus’ black eyes. 

The horse snorted, pushing a hoof into the dirt and kicking up dust impatiently. 

“Don’t be rude, Titus, we have a guest.” Lexa tutted, placing a soft palm on his neck. 

In one smooth motion, Lexa pushed off the ground and lifted herself onto the horse’s bare back, with practiced ease. 

Clarke glanced back at the villa hurriedly, and then gaped at Lexa. 

“How am I to-” 

“Trust me.” Lexa outstretched her hand, amused further by Clarke’s quizzical stare. 

Clarke slowly approached the horse, marveling at its size. When she was about a foot or so away from meeting Lexa’s hands, Titus whinnied, jerking his head slightly towards Clarke. 

Though he couldn’t speak, his intentions were crystal clear. 

He didn’t trust the newcomer, and was making it painfully apparent. 

(Lexa had no doubt in her mind that Titus somehow  _ knew  _ Clarke was painfully attractive, and was enjoying bothering Lexa a bit  _ too much).  _

Clarke stepped back, wearing a scowl that made Lexa stifle a laugh. 

She could take her husband out with a single dagger, but she couldn’t approach a horse with a bit of attitude. 

“Titus.” Lexa rolled her eyes, grateful that the darkness could conceal the reddening of her cheeks. “Now is  _ not  _ the time for your sense of humor.” 

“Is that what you call it?” Clarke grumbled as she stepped forward again. 

This time, Lexa didn’t hesitate in scooping Clarke up (with the strength of her arm alone, Clarke noticed), and helping her onto Titus’ back.

Titus let out a puff of air as his response, but seemed to let go of his grudge. 

“Is this your only horse?” Clarke quipped. 

Lexa grinned. “There is  _ Phobos _ , but Titus is my fastest.” 

“He better be.” Clarke turned, noticing quite a few more torches were lit and seemed to be moving in the far off distance of the villa. “I think they’ve noticed.” 

Lexa glanced forward, and then once more at Clarke, behind her. 

“Put your arms around me.” She instructed. 

Clarke did as she was told, leaning forward, pressing herself against Lexa’s back. 

The moment was not lost on either of them, and Lexa cleared her throat slightly, trying not to focus on what she felt.

“Don’t enjoy this too much, misthios.” Clarke murmured. 

Lexa didn’t linger to respond, instead leaning forward. “Don’t let go.” She instructed one last time. 

Before Clarke could respond, Titus had taken off into a canter, leaving Clarke breathless. 

They began racing through the trees, the moon’s light filtering in through the branches, lighting the dirt path they followed, until they pulled off in another direction, leaving the trail behind as a precautionary measure. 

Throughout it all, Clarke held fast to Lexa’s waist, allowing the cool winds to assault her senses for a moment. Nothing could be heard but the galloping of hooves on the earth, and over time, her body grew accustomed to the jolt of the galloping motion. 

She came to rest her head behind Lexa’s shoulder, after some time. 

For safety, of course. 

They continued their ride, leaving the villa behind, and with it, Clarke’s old life. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

“Can we just…” Clarke breathed against Lexa’s neck. She tightened her arms around her taut midsection, trying to ignore the surge of…  _ something _ in her blood at the feel of them shifting under her hands. “I just need a break. We’ve been riding for hours and I can smell the sea again. We’re close to the port. So can we stop and rest for a bit?”

“We need to make sure we’re far enough away from the villa that Bellamy’s troops will not find us,” Lexa shouted back. 

Clarke tightened her hands again. “I know that! But we fled through the trees and down that stream. They won’t be able to figure out which way we went.”

“I’m afraid -”

“Lexa, if we don’t stop soon, I’m going to fall off this horse!” Clarke insisted. Underneath her, Titus gave a hard jolt, like he was insulted at the very thought.

That was all it took for Lexa to slow the galloping horse. Titus snorted and tugged on his reins, eager to run some more.

“Easy,” Lexa soothed. She ran her hand through his mane and smiled at the snort that followed. “Foul tempered old man.”

Before Lexa could turn to speak to her, Clarke was sliding off the horse. She placed her hand on Lexa’s thigh and smiled up at her.

“Thank you.”

“You’d be harder to help if you were wounded, Clarke,” Lexa said with a slight shrug. Still, the moment lingered between them, as Clarke and Lexa took a moment, perhaps for the first time, to glance into one another’s eyes. 

The moment faded when Clarke shivered slightly, and Lexa seemed to notice almost instantly. 

She lifted her right leg and slid off Titus, landing between the horse and Clarke with ease. “You should rest. I’ll find us something to eat. I’m sorry we had to miss the feast.”

Clarke laughed at the weak joke. She made her way to a low-lying boulder, sitting on the mossy surface. The breeze shifted, coming off the sea and carrying chill now. She hadn’t had time to grab a cloak so she pulled her arms close to her body and shifted the loose fabric of her  _ peplos _ to cover her as best she could.

“I caught a fox,” Lexa said as she approached from where she’d been rummaging in her leather pouches.. She’d already field dressed it, the meat ready to cook. She set it down next to Clarke on the boulder. “We’ll need a fire.”

“Won’t the soldiers see the smoke?”

“They should be sufficiently confused by now. I’m not worried.” Lexa replied, already gathering kindling. When there was no reply, she glanced over to see Clarke staring at the ground. “Really, it’s okay. It’ll be a small fire. Just enough to warm you and cook the meat.”

Somehow sensing that arguing was futile, Clarke only nodded. She waited while Lexa started the fire and cooked the meat, only moving when Lexa beckoned her closer.

The heat of the flames felt nice against her chilled skin. And the fox did smell amazing.

“Are you alright?” Lexa asked between bites.

“I’m sorry I ruined your plan. I know you had things to ask Bellamy.” Clarke said at last. She met Lexa’s eyes. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of him touching me. Of being his. Not after the things I know he’s done.”

Lexa shook her head. She finished her food and moved to sit next to Clarke. She opened her cloak and pulled Clarke into her side.

“You couldn’t have known. I’ll find my answers, even without Bellamy. There are...other places to investigate.,” Lexa said easily. She moved just a bit closer to the fire, wanting to fight off the chill from the sea.

They sat in silence for a time, watching the tiny flames dance among the embers. When all that was left were the coals, still burning red, Lexa pulled her cloak off and wrapped it around Clarke’s shoulders.

Clarke seemed surprised by the gesture, subconsciously tugging at the cloth, pulling it closer. She felt something inside her flutter at the sight of Lexa, looking even more like a goddess now that her arms were exposed. 

She murmured a small thank-you, unsure of how to take the treatment from the surprisingly well-mannered misthios. 

There had to be more to the story than she’d been made aware of. 

Someone like Lexa, from what Clarke knew, was no cold blooded killer from the start. Whatever she was chasing, whomever it was...it must have been important. 

It was in that moment that Clarke realized there were markings- symbols and art, etched into Lexa’s skin in black ink. A design on her upper arm. 

The more she studied Lexa, the more questions she had. 

Clarke was always curious, ever since she was a young girl, always sneaking out to follow her mother when she was called to tend to the soldiers’ wounds from the nearby camp. 

She wondered what kind of childhood this  _ Lexa  _ had. 

She didn’t dare ask, figuring she’d pushed her luck enough for one day. The gods had mercy on her. She didn’t know if it had been divine intervention, but  _ something  _ had sent this breathtaking killer into her life, on today of all days. 

Lexa seemed to catch her gaze upon the curious markings, but the mysterious warrior offered no further explanation. 

“Where am I taking you?” She asked softly.

“Sorry?” Clarke blinked, so deeply involved in her own thoughts, she didn’t quite hear Lexa say anything at all. 

“You...need to be escorted back to your home?” Lexa cleared her throat. 

There was another pause as a tentative plan formed in Clarke’s mind.

“Yes. Mykonos. I am from Mykonos. Specifically , I need you to get me to the forge close to my home.” Clarke lit up at the idea. 

She did the math quickly. Under the right conditions, Mykonos was a 2 day sail from where she’d left the  _ Adrestia _ .

“Why?” Lexa couldn’t help but bite, the way she was suddenly alight with excitement. 

“My friend, Raven. She’s the most talented blacksmith in all of Mykonos, maybe all of the city-states. You could certainly use her skills.” Clarke answered eagerly. Then she moved to sit on her knees, excited to share her thoughts. “You can use Raven for her armor and her weapons. I have some training as a healer and some as a fighter as well. And if you’re as skilled as you say you are, you can get to Monty, my friend who is an alchemist.”

Lexa listened carefully, certain she’d find a way to stop Clarke’s rambles. But new armor, especially well-made armor, was hard to come by. And if Clarke really was a healer and her friend an alchemist… 

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to keep Clarke around for a while to see if she could truly be an asset?

Clarke took her momentary pause as a moment of hesitance. Frowning, she quickly added, “My mother would compensate you with more  _ drachmae _ than you could carry.” 

As much as it felt wrong to accept that sort of offer, especially since Clarke had been so eager to share her friends’ resources with Lexa, but  _ needed  _ the drachmae. 

The  _ Adrestia  _ was awaiting upgrades, her crew needed to eat, and there were still so many leads to chase. 

“We leave in the morning.” Lexa gave her a nod, and the way Clarke smiled after left Lexa breathless. 

For the first time since she’d laid eyes on Clarke, she was smiling, genuine and bright. 

Lexa didn’t know it, but she would wage  _ wars  _ for that smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> (@AO3- I still hate you) - Niki
> 
> If you're still here and you liked it, thank you <3  
> Catch us on tumblr @effortlesslyopulent (OR @clexa-hsau) and @imaginaryhistorianme


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